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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896027">Watson</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith'>IdrisSmith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Not Beta'd, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly Children, We Die Like Men, somewhat canon compliant, various POV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:40:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rosie was four years old, she figured out something which was later proven right; Uncle Sherlock loves Aunt Molly. Thankfully, she didn't have to meddle because he wised up before long. And because of that, when her father became one of those annoying dads, she got her godparents there for her, even if she showed up in the middle of the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Watson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please note that I wrote this in 2017 and never published it. I will be looking into finding my works whether it's on tumblr or my personal drive and slowly adding it to ao3. None of the works are BETA'd unless stated otherwise. My attention span is still, very, very questionable -- so who knows if I added all the unpublished works at once or over time at this point. No pitchforks, please...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It started when she was just a baby. She didn't know whether her godfather had disagreed with the name her parents chose for her or whether she reminded him so much of her mother whom he had affectionately (according to her Aunt Molly) called Mrs Watson that he couldn't bring himself to stop calling her Watson. Either way, it didn't matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rosamund Mary Watson, Rosie to her friends, liked being called Watson by her godfather. In a way, it made her feel closer to the mother she never met but felt like always knew. When she was a little girl, her father would put her to bed telling her a story of a wise Princess who saved the Prince. It didn't take her long to realise that the Princess with golden hair was her mother and the Prince was her father. The Knights were, of course, her Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Greg while the Wise Witch was her Aunt Molly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did the First Knight and the Wise Witch get together?" she yawned as she asked her father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>John chuckled at the question, thinking of who the characters were based on and realising that perhaps Rosie had caught on as well. Years ago, he would have said not bloody likely. However, having picked up Rosie from Molly's place where Sherlock was out cold on her couch, he had to admit that perhaps things were changing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, it's up to the Knight. As long as he doesn't mess things up," he told the five-year old frankly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmmm..." Rosie hummed, sliding further into the duvet. "Just like Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly. They would get married and give me cousins."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe," John said, chuckling. He wondered briefly, what Rosie had seen whenever she spent her time with her godmother? Surely, it must have been something. Sherlock always seemed to show up around Molly, more so than usual. He could have possibly missed something, as always. Yet, his curiousity evaporated by the time he slipped into his own bed. Whatever it was, he knew Sherlock would eventually spell it out for him and he was too exhausted as a single father to spare his friend's love life another thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the sleepy mumbles of a child came true six months after that John wondered why he ever doubted his daughter at all. After all, she was also the daughter of Mary Watson, a remarkable woman. He was shocked and delighted for both his friends. However, at the same time, he couldn't help but felt envious as he watched his friend dance with his bride. A fleeting thought, nothing more. He was, truly, happy for Sherlock and he had no doubt in his heart that Mary would have been as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>xxxxx</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a teenager, Rosie went through a rebellious period. She would storm out of her house and run to her Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly's place. They would always welcome her regardless the hour she turned up on their doorstep. The 221B was no longer a place of residence, more like an office for her father and Uncle Sherlock by then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dad's doing that thing again," she huffed as she squeezed passed the two adults who looked haggard, being woken up at an ungodly hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did y --" Molly opened her mouth to ask only to be cut short by Sherlock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll get it," Sherlock sighed, pulling open a drawer by the door where they always kept a spare change for nights when Rosie turned up at their doorstep. He pulled his dressing gown tighter around his body, shoving his feet into the pair of trainers he left out before jogging out to pay the waiting cab.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly on the other hand, followed the rebellious teen into the sitting room, shaking her head as she did. It had been almost like a weekly occurrence since the young woman turned fourteen that both Molly and Sherlock had gotten too used to it by now. It was always Sherlock running out to pay for the cab, as he didn't want Molly to catch the flu and Molly who would calm Rosie down as he did that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, what is it this time?" she asked kindly, claiming the seat next to the teen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He said I'm too young to date," Rosie grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest. "I'm fifteen!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly smiled, putting her hand on the young woman's shoulder. She was about to calm her down before, like always, Sherlock came strutting into the living area. It was painfully predictable and comical how neither of the two ever veered far from the usual script they seemed to have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> too young," Sherlock interjected, plopping down to the chair across Molly and Rosie, looking irritated. "I didn't date until I was in my forties."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watson turned up her nose. "That's because no one but Aunt Molly would date you the moment they know what you're like. You just got real lucky."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock scowled and Molly burst into an ugly laugh, holding her stomach. She would have continued if not for a small voice that came from the staircase prompting the adults and teen to turn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mummy, what's Watson doing here?" A small boy, Sherlock's exact copy saved from the colour of his hair held onto the railings. Sherlock was on his feet at once, walking up to the child who was no older than six, to pick him up and lodged the boy against his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Watson's going to stay over tonight," Sherlock replied. "She had a row with Uncle Watson."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Again?" asked the small boy sleepily. He, like his parents, were used to Rosie turning up at their home as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Watson's turn to scowl. "That was revenge, wasn't it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock looked back at the teen, grinning triumphantly. "It was. You know where your bedroom is. I don't even know why your Aunt Molly insisted calling it the guest bedroom when you're the only one who ever stayed over."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly laughed, finally raising from her seat to join her boys. Her son was quick to wiggle free from his father and thrust his arms out for Molly to gather him into her arms. She took him without question and swayed a little as she took a step up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Alright, back to bed for you, young man," she cooed, climbing up more of the steps. "And Sherlock, make sure to call John so he won't worry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does he have to?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I have to?" Both Sherlock and Rosie said at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly who was halfway up the staircase turned back to the two and chuckled. "Yes. Or John might call up Lestrade and you know how that turned out last time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shivered. Oh, he remembered alright. One very annoyed Mycroft Holmes spent the whole month being passive aggressive with him. It wasn't anything new, in fact, it was the whole dynamic of their relationship ever since Sherlock could remember. Too bad, it could get tricky when you're trying to solve for him or any case that required his resources.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, he turned to his goddaughter. "Go to your room and I'll call your dad to let him know you're alive."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rosie groaned and jumped out of the seat. "If you must," she said as she sauntered to the guest bedroom, which was, as Sherlock had said, more like her bedroom. "Goodnight Uncle Sherlock, Aunt Molly."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Goodnight, Watson," he replied as Rosie disappeared behind the wall separating the living space and hall towards the guest bedrooms. He waited until he heard the soft sound of her door closing before climbing up the stairs to join Molly who had gone up to put their youngest down first and call his friend who must have been worried out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>For once, Sherlock was thankful he and Molly had sons instead of daughters because he doubted he would know how to deal with young women. Though, he knew that Molly would and she would help him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>xxxxx</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watson handed it to Sherlock first, her diploma. He hesitated, looking to John who nodded encouragingly before he dared to take it from the young woman. Rosamund Mary Watson had come a long, long way from the toddler he had to babysit to the adult that stood before him. He opened it, reading the words on the paper carefully. It still didn't feel real. It felt like it was just yesterday he was chasing her as a three-year old around his home when she refused to take a bath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"W-wonderful job, Doctor," he said, pausing to look back at Molly for a little help. He was overwhelmed, but he chalked it up to the fact that it had been a long day and they were all exhausted. Words were failing him and that he blamed on old age. He stood, unsure of himself, trying not to cry. He wanted to tell her he was proud of her and that everyone was proud of her. Most importantly, he wanted to tell her that his mother, for whom she was named after, was proud of her. Yet nothing, nothing came out of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Watson," Rosie said at the end. She moved in to give Sherlock a hug. He accepted it, relieved she understood without saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, Doctor Watson," he agreed, letting the young woman hug him a little longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was without saying, everyone present shared Sherlock's thoughts. When Rosie released Sherlock from her usual iron grip hug, she turned to hug her father, her Aunt Molly and the rest of her family. Everyone who had helped raise her was there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're coming to work at Barts, right?" Molly asked playfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm proud of you, darling," Mrs Hudson said, sobbing into her handkerchief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We all are," Lestrade agreed as Rosie hugged him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Mycroft looked at her proudly. "Yes, we all are, Doctor Watson."</span>
</p>
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